Wouldn't It Be Nice?
by Melanie Athene
Summary: Thanks to Cas, Dean's life has suddenly turned into a 1960s beach party film. But Dean's not complaining – in fact, he kinda wants to see how this movie ends. A/N: Not a coda to s12e23, per se, though you are welcome to take it that way if you wish. Mostly, this fic is a paean to summer, and an excuse to give Cas, Dean & Sam a fun day on the beach.


Bright red Speedos, slightly on the too-tight side, bobbed along in front of Dean like the centre of some wonky, moving target.

He had argued until he was blue in the face that no one wore crap like that to the beach anymore. Baggy swim trunks were the 'in thing' these days. Not that Dean Winchester would be caught dead wearing those either. No, siree! He was a manly man. Boxer briefs would suffice in the water; jeans would do nicely on the shore. And that, as far as he was concerned, was that.

Unfortunately, Cas had done his research ( _Bay Watch,_ Hasselhoff, red trunks). And since choices at the thrift store were, in the main, limited to what most people wouldn't be caught dead wearing in public, he argued back that red Speedos were as close as he could get to 'proper beach attire'. Therefore, red Speedos it had to be. After all, they were good enough for Duchovny on _The X Files._

Dean could have offered valid argument against this faulty logic. In fact, his mouth had opened, ready to spit out a snide remark, but he'd suddenly found himself helpless against the power of the hope-filled, puppy dog eyes the former angel turned his way. Christ, when had Cas ever asked for anything for himself? It wasn't like he was demanding a mankini. Big, insanely blue eyes or not, Dean would have had to put his foot down about that. But he wasn't going to be a dick and spoil Cas' plans for a non-hunting adventure over something as stupid as a tiny, red scrap of cloth. And when he firmly insisted Dean needed swimwear too... ("Yeah, Cas. Sure. Knock yourself out. Pick out whatever you like for me – and for Sam too.")

So here he was, a gaudy Hawaiian print covering his ass ("You'd fit right in on _Magnum, P.I.,_ Dean, but your car is much nicer than his."), the aforementioned red Speedos merrily leading the way and a huffing moose bringing up the rear of their strange little party.

And, oh yeah, had he mentioned how _meticulously_ Cas had done his homework? _Beach Party, Muscle Beach Party, Bikini Beach_ and, god help him, at least a half dozen other crappy films, most of them featuring Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello. Not that that Annette chick was hard on the eyes in her bikini, but still... Give a man a break. How much is too much?

Turns out Cas had ideas about that too.

Which is how Dean found himself schlepping along, lugging three mis-matched folding chairs and a huge, goddamned parasol. Okay, it was a beach umbrella, not a parasol. But, really, wasn't lounging in the sun the whole point of going to the beach? Who needed an awning large enough to shelter an elephant? And why, oh why, did the damned thing have to be all the colours of the rainbow? Didn't three guys going to the beach together scream 'gay' loudly enough for Cas? Apparently not.

Cas had a shit ton of 'appropriate gear' stashed in the shopping bag swinging at his right side: volleyball, Frisbee, plastic pail and shovel; and, of course, a stupidly huge, inflatable beachball that Dean so was not going to blow up for him. Slung over his left shoulder was a duffle bag filled to overflowing with sunscreen lotion, bug spray, hats, t-shirts ("In case we get chilly, Dean."), towels, a blanket, and heaven knew what else. Complimentary sunglasses had been handed out as they exited the car. Dean had hoped his would be large enough to conceal his identity, on the off chance they ran into someone he knew, but it turned out they all had to leave them behind. Cas had mistakenly purchased child-sized glasses – which no doubt explained why his had a smiling bee in one corner.

Sam, the lucky bastard, got to wear a sensible pair of black swim trunks. ("I'm sorry, but there was nothing else in your size, Sam.") He had followed Cas' lead in sporting flip flops, though, something Dean had refused and now deeply regretted. There was currently more sand than foot inside each of his sneakers. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Sam smirking knowingly as he discreetly tried to shake a bit of the grit out.

Dean resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at his brother. After all, the poor moose was laden down with a huge wicker picnic basket that had a hinged lid _(where in hell did Cas find that?)_ and a heavy cooler, which made him tilt to one side like a drunken sailor as he walked.

 _There had better be beer in there,_ Dean thought grimly. _Lots of beer. I'm going to need it._

The knoll they'd been climbing (seemingly forever) finally came to an end, and Cas nimbly stepped aside before a distracted Dean could harpoon him with the umbrella. Dean's eyes lifted, and there it was: the blue of the sea stretching out to the horizon where it merged with the blue of the sky; sparkling sand as far as the eye could see. Seagulls wheeled and cried their plaintive call, their wings as white as the wisps of clouds that hovered overhead. It was the most beautiful sight he'd seen in a long time. Or so he thought until he shifted his gaze and saw the soft smile gracing Cas' face.

Maybe this beach thing wasn't such a bad idea after all. They deserved a break. Cas most of all, after all that he'd been through: fighting, dying, suddenly back from the dead... and human. All too human. For good, this time, it would seem.

"Come on, guys," Sam grumbled, interrupting the dark turn Dean's thoughts had taken. "Let's find a place to set up. This shit is heavy."

Dean waved a generous hand at the vast expanse before them. "Lead the way, Cas," he said.

Cas' smile broadened into a happy grin. "Over there." He pointed to a spot that looked much like any other bit of beach to Dean and Sam's unpracticed eyes, but the hunters made no protest as they continued to trudge in Cas' wake for what seemed to be an unnecessarily long period of time.

"Here," Cas decided, and finally set his two bags down.

Dean glanced around. Sand and water, check. Whoop-de-doo, there was plenty of that to spare. But then he also noticed how removed they were from the crowd that sprinkled the beach just off the trail to the parking lot. How close they were to a sandy embankment that offered shelter from the wind. How near they were to the water without the risk of their stuff being washed out to sea by an errant wave if their attention wandered. Huh. You can take the angel out of the soldier, but the tactician remains.

"Good choice, Cas," he said, resting his hand on a bare shoulder and letting the faint blush that stained Cas' cheeks at this praise pass unmentioned. Instead, he busied himself with setting up the chairs, grateful when Cas came over to help him sink the umbrella deeper into the sand, and set it at the right angle so it wouldn't blow away.

Sam dropped the basket and cooler in the shade their labour provided and kicked off his flip-flops.

"Who's with me?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer before loping off towards the beckoning waves. His girlish shriek as he splashed into the obviously cold water was music to Dean's ears.

"How's about it, Cas?" Dean said. "Ready for a swimming lesson?"

Cas peered at Sam, whose head was bobbing farther and farther from the shore with every stroke of his long arms. For such a big man, he sure looked tiny out there surrounded by so much water.

"Um," he replied uncertainly.

"Or not." Dean shrugged. "I wouldn't say no to having a beer or two before we dive in." He slipped off his sneakers and plopped himself in the chair nearest to the cooler.

Cas smiled gratefully, and neatly caught the can Dean tossed his way. "Sam really should have applied sunscreen first," he observed, as he popped the tab and took a long, deep swallow. "He's going to sunburn. Water reflects the sunlight and amplifies its effect."

"Nah," Dean said. "No way. Sammy just tans, the big freak. I'm the one who burns and freckles." He studied Cas' face, his eyes careful not to dip below the shoulder line where all that naked flesh was so casually on display. "I'm not sure about you. Fair skin, dark hair... It could go either way."

"I'm not taking any chances," Cas declared, setting his beer aside and bending over to rummage through his supplies. Which put his perky rear end almost on a level with Dean's eyes. By the time he straightened back up, sunscreen tube in hand, Dean's face was almost as red as Cas' Speedos.

"You should put some on too, Dean," Cas advised, methodically slathering the lotion on his own body: face and neck, arms and chest, legs and – "Dean, I can't reach my back." He held out the tube. "Do you mind?"

 _Do I mind putting my hands all over you?_ Dean's brain stuttered to a halt, derailed at the very thought of being allowed – no, _invited_ – to touch Cas so intimately. _If you only knew,_ he thought. _If you only knew all the ways I want to touch you, and have you touch me._

"Dean?" Cas had half turned in anticipation of Dean complying with his request. Now he peered back over his shoulder expectantly, his hand still outstretched with the lube – No! Not lube! Sunscreen. Sunscreen! _Jesus!_

Dean made a wild grab and snatched the tube out of Cas' hand. "Turn around," he croaked. He could do this. He could. As long as those piercing eyes weren't watching his every move, reading thoughts that best remained unspoken, he'd be okay.

Much to his relief, Cas obeyed.

Dean squirted a generous amount of sunscreen into his trembling hand, and set the tube aside. He delayed the moment of contact a little longer then, rubbing the lotion between his hands to warm it before slowly, ever so slowly, reaching out and resting his palms on Cas' broad shoulders. A deep breath, to calm himself. A slow blink of his eyes to let reality catch up with the fantasy he had lived with for years. And then with firm, even strokes, he finally allowed his hands to glide down Cas' smooth, warm flesh. His fingers tingled from the contact. His heart was pounding in his chest. Up and down he stroked, round and round in soothing little circles.

"Dean," Cas breathed, the name scarcely more than a sigh. Not quite a moan, but close, oh so very close. Close enough that Dean let his hands drift lower, down to the dimples of Venus on Cas' back. Lower still, until a finger dared to brush across the top of those damed Speedos...

"Dean," Sam called, his voice as excited as a five year old's. "Dean! Cas! Look what I found!"

And just like that, the spell was broken.

Dean cleared his throat and stepped back, suddenly all too conscious of how close he was standing to Cas – when did he move to stand that close? So close that his breath stirred the fine hair on the back of Cas' head, raising goosebumps on his neck.

"Uh... There you go," he offered weakly, taking yet another step back as Cas slowly turned to face him. For something to do, Dean retrieved the sunscreen and held it out like some kind of offering. But Cas ignored his outstretched hand, and slowly Dean's arm sank back to his side.

God, the look on Cas' face. The way it morphed from puzzled to intrigued, from uncertain to flustered. Obviously, no one had ever touched him like that before. In fact, he could probably count the number of times anyone had touched him – other than in violence – on the fingers of one hand. And that Dean should be the one to touch him in that manner...

"Guys! Look!" A giant paw thrust itself in front of Dean's face, a blue glass orb cradled in its palm. A web-like pattern could still be seen on the glass, though whatever had caused it was long gone.

"It's a fishing float," Cas said, a gentle finger reaching out to trace scratches where the float had rolled in the surf and become etched by the sand. "They were once used by Japanese fishermen to keep their nets or droplines afloat. Most floats are shades of green because that is the colour of glass from recycled saké bottles, but other colours appeared in the 1920s and 30s. This float is probably from that era. It's a rare find, Sam, especially in these waters."

Sam beamed, and Dean couldn't help but smile at his brother, his annoyance at the interruption fading, even a little wave of gratitude surfacing now that Cas was thoroughly sidetracked and Dean was going to be let off the hook for his moment of self indulgence. At least for now.

"Let's go beach combing," Sam suggested, carefully tucking the float away for safe keeping. "Maybe we can find some more. I'll show you where I found this one."

"Just a minute," Dean said. "I don't want to burn." Quickly, he slapped some sunscreen on himself, leaving blobs of white in places, and probably missing more than a few spots in his haste to join in on the treasure hunt.

"I'll get your back," Sam offered, grabbing the tube out of Dean's hand and giving his back a few cursory swipes with a heavy hand. "Okay, let's go!" he said impatiently, tossing the tube on a chair and hastening down the beach.

Dean started to follow, but halted after a few steps, his attention captured by Cas' narrowed eyes and the thoughtful expression on his face. "What?" he demanded. "What?"

"You missed a spot," Cas said, and nonchalantly ran a finger through the excess sunscreen on Dean's chest, narrowly missing a pert nipple as he did so. Dean stood frozen in disbelief as Cas's finger gently stroked – _caressed!?_ – his nose before trailing down to the little dip above his upper lip. And then the finger was gone, Cas pausing only long enough to retrieve a bright yellow plastic pail before he went striding off across the sand in pursuit of Sam.

* * *

They searched for over an hour, but all they found were sea shells, sea glass and pretty pebbles. Dean also picked up a small shard of driftwood that he thought looked like a little horse. Or maybe a unicorn. In either case, it would make a neat carving once he whittled a little bit here, polished a bit there. Maybe he could give it to Cas when he was done? It was about time that he added some personal touches to his room back at the bunker. It looked like a monk's cell. Or as if he was packed up and ready to move out at a moment's notice.

Sam's growling stomach drew his thoughts back to the beach.

"Hungry, Sasquatch?" he teased.

"Getting there." Sam grinned. "But I think I'll go for a quick dip first. That way I can just sack out afterwards. Catch a few rays."

"It is best not to swim right after eating." Cas nodded approvingly. "You should go with him, Dean. I'll set up lunch."

"Are you sure, Cas? You are going to get in the water today, right? This isn't just some avoidance thing?"

"I assure you, Dean, you will have ample opportunity to get me wet."

It was a very good thing Dean wasn't already in the water. The way his jaw dropped, he surely would have drowned.

Fortunately, Sam wasn't there to add to his discomfort. He was already waist deep in the waves. And Cas didn't linger to see the effect his words had either. He was halfway back to their gear, pail swinging lightly at his side, and the faint trace of a vaguely familiar song trailing in his wake. Dean could have sworn he heard, "Beach baby, beach baby, give me your hand. Give me something that I can remember," rolling out across the sand in a deep, slightly off key voice, but the way the wind was blowing, it could have been one of the other people on the beach singing, or a radio with faulty reception, or...

"Dean! C'mon!"

"Keep your panties on, Samantha," Dean barked, and plunged in after his brother, letting the cold sting of the water wash the confusion from his brain. No way Cas just got his flirt on. With Dean. Nah, he was imagining things. Projecting his own wants and desires. That was all. That was –

"Goddamn it, Sam!" he sputtered, fighting his way back to the surface, salt water streaming from his nose and stinging his eyes.

Oh it was on. So on.

Cas glanced up from the food he was arranging on paper plates, his gaze drawn to the epic battle taking place between two laughing and jeering brothers. He smiled indulgently and lowered himself to the blanket to sit back and enjoy the show. Sam had the height advantage and the uncanny reach of an octopus, but Dean was like an eel in the water and the taller man soon went down with a horrified shout. Dean's triumph was short lived, however, as ruthless hands encircled his ankles and dragged him under.

Cas took a hearty bite of a chicken sandwich and reached for a can of beer.

This could take a while.

* * *

There were no winners or losers in the relentless war, only two drowned-looking rats with ravenous appetites. Without stopping to properly appreciate the bounty laid out before them, they fell to their knees on either side of the blanket and dug in as if they hadn't seen food in days. Only when they both professed that they couldn't possibly eat another bite, did Cas pull a homemade apple pie from the picnic basket where he had wisely kept it hidden.

"Oh, man," Dean moaned. "I think I'm in love."

"With Cas or the pie?" Sam quipped.

Dean's silence lasted a heartbeat too long for Sam's words to be taken as the joke they were meant to be. Sam's eyebrow rose. Cas blushed becomingly.

"Shaddup," Dean growled. "And someone pass me a piece of that pie."

Still blushing, Cas quickly complied, handing a generous serving to to each of the hunters before taking a smaller slice for himself.

Dean didn't even bother to look for a fork, he just lifted the wedge to his lips and stuffed a large portion of it in his mouth. The noises he made as he devoured the rest of the pie were simply pornographic, there was no other word to describe his little moans and whimpers, the bliss on his face, the way he sucked his fingers in his mouth, not wanting to waste a single crumb of the best pie he'd ever tasted in his life.

Dean opened eyes he didn't remember closing to the vision of his mortified brother and Cas with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" Dean said. "S'good pie."

"Honestly, Dean, sometimes you make me wonder if we're related."

"Would... would you like another slice?" Cas inquired, almost as if he was afraid of the answer.

"No thanks, Cas. Maybe later." Dean patted his tummy, and emitted a quiet belch. " 'Cuse me," he murmured politely, casting a fierce glare at his brother as if to say: 'see, I have manners.'

Sam rolled his eyes and pointedly helped Cas pack up the remnants of their feast.

"What should we do now?" Cas asked.

"Don't know about you two, but I could do with a little nap." Dean yawned, causing a chain reaction all around.

"Sounds good to me," Sam seconded the motion, flopping face down on the blanket in a gangly sprawl that left no room for the others to join him.

Dean looked down his nose at the lazy giant and debated kicking sand in his face. Would serve the jerk right if he got a sunburn.

We can spread a couple of towels out," Cas suggested. "Over there, in the shade."

Right, the parasol. Dean had almost managed to forget about it.

Somehow, once they'd moved the chairs and laid towels down in their place, the damned thing didn't look as big as it had seemed when he was lugging it to the beach. Their towels almost overlapped. It would almost be like going to sleep in the same bed: two mostly naked bodies laying so close to each other that one wrong move and he could find himself pressed up against Cas' back, nuzzling his neck. Not that that didn't hold a certain appeal, but he wasn't sure if the other man would appreciate it.

Yeah, he wasn't going to get much sleep.

But it turned out he slept like a log. Better than he'd slept for years. No nightmares. No dreams either. Just the peace of mind that came from having Cas' gently breathing body at his side.

Last time Dean had seen Cas laid out on the ground, he had been an ashen-faced corpse with a red blossom on his breast from a fatal blow.

Sam had continued the battle on his own.

Dean had dropped to his knees, crying out as if the blade had pierced his own heart instead of the angel's. He had sat in the ashes of his wings for hours, holding Cas' hand, feeling it grow ever colder in his own. He had prayed for a miracle, wept and raged at an uncaring universe...

Dean's eyes shot open now, unwilling to allow that death scene play out in his mind over and over again – as it had so many times before.

It was in the past.

A miracle _had_ happened.

Cas had opened his eyes, and he was okay. A human kind of okay, but alive and uncomplaining of his lot. He'd settled in as if he had always belonged with them in the bunker. And he had – there was never any doubt in Dean's mind that that was where he should be. But you couldn't tie an angel down. It was a pipe dream that Castiel, Angel of the Lord, would ever be allowed – or want – to stay with them. With _him._

But a human Castiel? Ah, that was another possibility entirely.

Dean turned his head and studied the steady rise and fall of Cas' chest.

Here. Within reach. If only he had the balls to reach out and take his hand when it was warm and capable of a response. If only he could tell him all the things that he never could bring himself to say. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of pity.

Blue eyes fluttered open, caught and held his gaze, and suddenly Dean was falling, falling, falling...

He didn't think it was possible to fall so far, so fast.

But Cas was there to catch him.

"Hello, Dean," he said, and reached out to brush away the telltale tear that was sliding down the curve of the hunter's cheek.

Finding precisely the right words – and the right time to say them – suddenly didn't seem important any more. Cas knew. Dean knew he knew. And there was no rejection or pity in his eyes. Just love.

"When you're ready, I'll be here," Cas whispered, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, preening a little under Dean's unabashed stare. "But I think we should wake Sam now. It's been over an hour."

Dean sat up too, a bit pissed that his brother didn't look like a boiled lobster. There was just a faint tinge of red on his back, enough to tingle, but not incapacitate.

"Told ya he doesn't burn," he said, accepting the hand Cas offered to help him rise, and holding on to it several seconds longer than necessary after he gained his feet. Cas' fingers tightened on his as if he didn't want to let go either.

Dean smiled as their hands reluctantly slipped apart, and finally gave in to the temptation of kicking up a cloud of sand to annoy his brother. But he was feeling all buttery soft inside, so he made sure it didn't go in Sammy's face.

The howl of outrage this provoked was well worth the mad chase that ensued. Sam tackled Dean at the water's edge, a knee to the back holding him in place while he scooped up a handful of seaweed and stuffed it down his trunks.

Cas' laughter followed his progress down the beach. "I think I'm ready for my swimming lesson now," he said. "If you two are quite through causing a scene."

Dean spit out a mouthful of sand and grinned. "I'll go easy on you," he promised, shaking one leg to dislodge the seaweed. "No John Winchester school of learning for you. He just threw me in the deep end of the pool. Same for Sam. I won't let go of you until you tell me to."

"That could take a very long time," Cas said.

"I've got no place else I'd rather be." Dean shrugged.

At which point Sam decided he'd had enough of their lame flirting, and pushed them both into the water.

* * *

Cas took to swimming like... well, like a fish to water, much to Dean's ill concealed disappointment. He had quite liked the feel of having Cas in his arms, his skin all slippery with seawater, but warm and pulsing with life. His laughter as he splashed and wriggled and tried to stay afloat was contagious.

Sam decided to join in on the fun and Cas was soon practice swimming back and forth from one brother to the other. After that, it was a natural progression to a game of water tag. Cas was it, most of the time. But he didn't seem to mind.

When they finally tired of swimming, they got out the Frisbee to toss around. Cas' aim was deadly, his reflexes finely honed. It was such a pleasure to see him in motion that Dean started throwing wide of the mark on purpose, just to see him jump around in his skimpy little Speedos. Sam sneered at his brother's artless throws, but Cas eventually caught on to what was happening and flushed a most becoming shade of red. The game ended soon after that, when Cas spun the Frisbee into Dean's solar plexus – hard – making him fold in on himself, all the wind knocked from his sails.

Dean opted out of the next activity, happy to sit back and watch Cas and Sam try their hand at volleyball. It was awkward playing without a net, and it turned out Cas didn't care much for the sport anyway. It wasn't nearly as easy as it had appeared to be in the movies. So when he bent a finger back on the hard ball, he quickly conceded the game. Sam returned to the water to cool himself off, but Cas seated himself on the blanket next to Dean. Ruffling through the shopping bag until he found his inflatable beachball, he held it up questioningly.

"No." Dean emphatically shook his head.

Cas pouted – actually pouted – and tried to inflate the ball himself.

The third time it popped off his lips and farted its way across the sand, Dean relented (as soon as he stopped laughing) and held out his hand. For the second time that day he found himself huffing and puffing, but finally the ball was plump and full, the little valve was successfully tucked in, and the smile on Cas' face made it all worthwhile.

"Thank you, Dean," he said. "Beachballs were an essential component of every single movie I watched."

"Essential, huh?" Dean smiled. "And what about surfboards?"

"Oh, they're essential too. But I thought I should learn to swim before I attempted to try one."

"Good move." Dean chuckled. "And maybe choose a beach with more surf if you want to ride a wave."

"Surfing?" Sam exclaimed, dripping water all over the blanket as he trotted past on his way to grab a chair and towel. "I love surfing. That would be so cool, dude."

"Next time, Sam," Cas said.

Dean felt his heart give a wild thump at the promise in Cas' voice, at the easy assumption that there would be a next time, and a time after that.

Their perfect day on a beach wasn't a one off.

Dean tuned out the slang filled conversation that ensued, caring little about 'duck diving' and 'wipeouts' and 'bathymetry' – whatever that was.

Cas was here to stay.

That was the thought that made him want to break out in song, just like they did in those corny movies that had brought them to this wonderful moment in time. That was why a day on the beach had been so important to Cas. It wasn't a single day, it was a lifetime of days he was offering. A lifetime of happiness.

Suddenly, Dean couldn't sit still another frigging minute. He had to run and jump, hoot and holler, and let all those bubbling emotions he was feeling find a safe outlet, or he was going to burst apart at the seams – or do something crazy like grab Cas' face between his hands and kiss him right here and now, in front of Sam and anyone else who happened to look their way. And as much as he wanted to do that – kiss Cas, kiss Cas and never stop kissing him – at the same time he wanted their first kiss to be something special, private... god help him, romantic.

Cas deserved that. He deserved the sun and the moon and every star in the sky. And Dean was going to see he got them – and anything else his heart desired. Even if that something was a bowlegged hunter with barely an honest dollar to his name, and a ton of insecurities and hangups.

But now... right now...

"Let's play ball!" he shouted, snatching the beachball from the blanket and giving it a mighty kick. Up and up and up it flew, its perfect arc sending it spinning towards the water.

Sam gave a wild whoop of delight and leaped to his feet. Cas scrambled up after him.

And that poor beachball took a real beating as it was tossed and kicked, tugged at and rolled on – three grown men galloping up and down the beach and tumbling in and out of the water like the carefree, innocent children they had never had the chance to be.

* * *

Lunch's leftovers served as supper, washed down with the last of the beer and an endless supply of laughter. Dean's exploration of the picnic basket – just in case there was a second pie hidden in there – resulted in him heaving a disappointed sigh. But Cas just smiled and pulled a large bag of marshmallows out of the duffle, followed by a box of graham crackers and several chocolate bars.

"S'mores!" Sam and Dean cried in unison, and dashed off on a mad quest to find driftwood.

Cas busied himself scooping out a shallow pit, then arranged stones in a rough circle to further contain a fire.

Shortly after he finished, and stood up brushing sand off his knees, Sam and Dean staggered back with enough wood to light a funeral pyre – apparently their sense of competition knew no bounds. Laughing and elbowing each other, they set about breaking some of the larger chunks of wood into smaller pieces, setting a few of the longer, thinner sticks aside for roasting marshmallows.

Only after they had made a little teepee of kindling, did they realize they didn't have any tinder – or matches for that matter. And Dean's lighter was in his jeans' pocket back in the Impala...

Cas shook his head disparagingly. "It's obvious you two were never Boy Scouts," he remarked, pulling a book of matches from one of the duffle's many pockets.

"Like _you_ were." Sam sniffed disdainfully.

"And what about dry tinder, Einstein?" Dean smirked.

Cas held up the graham cracker box.

Oh.

That could work.

Soon the fire was merrily crackling away and the heavenly scent of toasted marshmallows filled the air. Dean burned his tongue – twice – in his impatience to cram the gooey, sweet goodness in his mouth. Sam had a little more patience, but no finesse when it came to lining up the edges of his crackers. Cas' S'mores looked like something you'd see on the cover of a Martha Stewart magazine. But his chin got every bit as sticky as did the brothers' when he consumed his treats.

Dean restrained himself – just barely – from leaning over to lick his face clean. Instead, trusting their dying bed of embers would not flare up in their absence, the three of them headed down to the water's edge for a final quick dip before the chill of night set in.

The beach was rapidly clearing of waterlogged swimmers, avid sunbathers and overtired kids as the day came to an end. The sun hung low and heavy on the horizon, its light already turning soft shades of pink and orange and gold; a bank of clouds separating the colours into a celestial parfait.

Sam led the way as they returned to their little campsite, all three men shivering slightly as the day's light breeze turned brisk. They towelled off and gratefully pulled on the t-shirts Cas had so thoughtfully brought along, then huddled close to the fire pit while Sam rekindled the blaze.

One by one as it grew darker, the stars came out and the moon began to rise.

It was time to go.

But no one suggested that they do so. Instead, they continued to feed the fire while they reminisced about ghosts they had encountered over the years – the Winchester version of telling stories about things that go bump in the night.

When Sam's eyes drifted shut as the excitement of the long day finally caught up with him, Dean let his voice trail into silence mid-story. He and Cas sat quietly as Sam sank deeper and deeper into dreamland, until soft snores sounded and Sam rolled over on his back, soundly asleep.

Dean smiled fondly at his sleeping brother. "He used to do that when he was a kid," he whispered. "Awake one minute, dead to the world the next."

"We should pack up before we wake him," Cas whispered back. He stood and took a few steps towards the beach umbrella, intending to collapse it, but halted as Dean's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Dean?" His head tilted questioningly.

"Didn't a lot of those old films you watched end with a moonlit stroll on the beach?" Dean's hand gave a gentle shove, nudging Cas toward the darkness that lay outside the circle of firelight. "You wanted the whole beach movie experience, right?"

"Yes," Cas breathed.

"Well, come on, then," Dean said. "The beach and the moon await."

They followed a silver path of moonlight across the sand, then turned to walk side by side along the water's edge, only the whisper of their bare footsteps, the lap of the waves and the distant chirp of crickets breaking the comfortable silence. They didn't travel far – they wanted to keep an eye on Sam and the fire – but when they did come to a stop, they were distant enough that darkness hid them from view should Sam wake and find them gone, and the wind would carry their voices out to sea..

"It's beautiful, Dean," Cas said, tilting his head back to gaze at the ocean of stars that lay above them.

"Yes," Dean agreed, but he wasn't looking at the stars.

Cas' face was limned in moonlight, his eyes seemingly lit from within. He looked like the angel he had once been – the angel he would always be in Dean's heart – but when he lowered his gaze and turned to face Dean with a smile, it was contentment, not power, that fuelled the glow. He was here, happy in the moment, warm and real, his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Dean was by no means the genius his brother was, but he didn't need to be hit in the head with a two-by-four to know that this was as romantic a moment as was ever likely to come his way.

"I'm ready, Cas," he murmured, and took his hand, gently drawing him into his waiting arms.

They had hugged before, but never quite in this way: pressed so close, that a piece of paper couldn't be slipped between them; holding so tight, that they could scarcely breathe; embracing so long, that their hearts began to beat in harmony. Dean had never allowed himself to enjoy the solid warmth of Cas' body in previous hugs; had ignored the way they fit together so perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that together completed a bigger picture. He had never let himself acknowledge how very much he enjoyed the feel of Cas' stubble rasping against his own; how the scent of the man made him think that he was home; how a gentle puff of breath against his neck made the world tilt on its axis.

But he could admit to all of that now. Could accept all that it meant – and still want more.

It was so easy to guide Cas' head back the scant distance required to bring his face into alignment with his own. So easy to meet the wonder in his eyes, and unwaveringly hold his stare. One heartbeat... two... And then, as one, their eyes closed as they leaned in those few remaining inches, and suddenly – finally! – lips met lips, and they were kissing.

Dean had always thought – and, yes, he had often thought about it – that kissing Cas would be like lightning striking a transformer: a shower of sparks frying every synapse in his brain, obliterating everything. But, as it turned out, quite the opposite was true. Every movement of their lips, every gasp and sigh, every gentle nibble and each slow lick of their tongues was embedded with crystal clarity in his memory. He could live to be a hundred, could forget his own damn name, and still this moment would replay in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday.

Cas' kisses were unpracticed, but enthusiastic. He was a fast learner, though, copying every movement Dean's lips made, assimilating the knowledge, then experimenting with a few moves of his own. In other words, he was perfect in every way. Perfect beyond any kiss Dean had ever imagined happening between them: wet and wild to be sure, and filled with such passion that it set Dean's entire body on fire. But, beyond that, Cas' kisses were filled with love. Sweeter than the S'mores that lingered on their tongues, was the love that lay behind each kiss they shared.

Cas moaned deep down in his throat, and Dean felt his knees go weak. Felt himself sinking to his knees, drawing Cas down with him, neither man willing to end the enchantment they'd fallen under.

The sand was damp beneath them as they kissed and kissed and then they kissed some more: their lips now pink and swollen; air gusting through their noses in uneven blasts, neither man willing to stop kissing long enough to draw a full, much needed breath.

It seemed a natural progression to go from kneeling to reclining on the sand: their legs stretched out towards the water, little waves lapping at their toes as their tongues duelled endlessly.

The roar of blood in Dean's ears drowned out the booming of the surf as the moon drew the ocean ever closer to the shore.

Dean's eyes opened to find Cas' had opened as well, his pupils dilated and reflecting the glitter of the stars. Or maybe it was the moon hung in his eyes. Dean didn't care. Almost cross-eyed from their nearness, they stared at one another, a question asked and answered without a word being spoken.

Then, and only then, did Dean let his hands begin to wander, teasing and caressing Cas' face, his arms, his chest.

Cas moaned and arched into Dean's gentle touch.

Stretched out as he was upon him, Dean felt Cas harden against him: a hot column pressing against the fabric of his Speedos, the answering swell of Dean's equally eager flesh straining to meet him through the thin cotton of his swim shorts.

"Cas," he panted. "Can we – should we?"

"Yes," Cas groaned, half out if his mind with desire. "Yes, Dean. Please."

The roaring in Dean's ears grew louder as his hand fumbled its way between them. Close, he was so close. Just a fingerbreadth away, and then... and then...

And then a growling wave reached the shore and crashed full down upon them.

"Fuck!" Dean bellowed, when he finally stopped regurgitating water and breath returned to his protesting lungs. "What the goddamned fuck?"

Cas was on his hands and knees several feet from where Dean had been tumbled, his forehead brushing down against the sand as he whooped with laughter. "Th-th-that n-never ha-pp-ppened in the movies," he stuttered, and collapsed into a boneless puddle, still laughing hysterically.

"Yeah," Dean snorted, answering laughter bubbling up in his chest. "Welcome to the Winchester life. You're one of us now."

"At – at least we adhered to a PG rating," Cas gasped.

"Just barely," Dean replied. "Christ, that water was cold."

"T-told you you'd get me all w-wet," Cas chortled, teeth chattering and a full body shiver hitting him now that the surge of adrenaline was fading.

"Cas? Dean?" Sam's voice rang out in the darkness, clearly alarmed by all the noise they were making. "What's going on over there, guys?"

"Pack up, Sam." Dean hollered. "We're going home."

He stood up and held out a hand. Cas took it and cradled it between both of his own.

"Home," he said, and smiled. "That's wherever you are, Dean. For as long as you'll have me."

Dean pulled him in for a quick kiss, then flung an arm over his shoulders as they made their way back to Sam. "That would be forever, then," he admitted shyly, and Cas' arm stole around his waist in reply.

"Look at you!" Sam laughed, glancing up from the bag he was packing as two bedraggled castaways collapsed as close to the dying fire as they could safely get. "What happened?"

"We fell." Dean shrugged. _(We fell in love.)_

"The tide unexpectedly caught us," Cas said at the same time. _(At a most inopportune moment.)_

Dean looked at Cas. Cas looked at Dean.

"We fell and the tide caught us," they chorused without missing a beat.

"Uh-huh," Sam said, his brow furrowed in obvious disbelief. "O–kay, then. Let's get back to the car before you both come down with pneumonia."

It didn't take long for the three of them to gather up their gear. Sam tipped the water from the cooler into the circle of stones, and frowned when the fire only guttered down a little bit. So he emptied their pail of seashore treasures in the picnic basket, carefully nestling the blue float he had found on top in a fold of the blanket. He then made several quick trips back and forth across the beach, fetching enough water to fully douse the coals. Thankfully, the water's edge was closer now as the tide continued to come in, so he didn't have as far to go.

Dean and Cas heaped sand upon the smouldering remains just to be on the safe side, and then the three men made their way back along the trail that led to the parking lot.

"I have sand in places I didn't know I had," Dean grumbled, bringing up the rear with his umbrella and chairs. Sam, the lucky bastard, went sprinting on ahead, his load considerably lightened without food and beer and ice weighing him down. Cas turned to look back at Dean, his eyes glinting with mirth and moonlight.

"A shower will take care of that," he said. "Or maybe a long soak in a hot tub."

"I might need help scrubbing my sandy bits." Dean leered.

"That can be arranged," Cas tossed over his shoulder as he strode off after Sam. He was already slipping into dry clothes when Dean finally made it back to the car.

Bastards. He was saddled with a pair of smart-assed bastards.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Which didn't stop him from gleefully donning a t-shirt and faded jeans while the other two tried to fit everything back in the car. For good measure, he added a plaid flannel shirt to the ensemble, and immediately felt more like himself. He debated chucking the atrocious Hawaiian shorts into the bushes and leaving them there, but Cas caught his eye as he balled them up for the toss, and he meekly stuffed them in the car instead, nestled next to Cas' Speedos and their two wet shirts.

"Dammit!" Sam cried, as he stowed the last of their gear and slammed the trunk lid closed. "We forgot to build a sandcastle. How the hell could we forget that?"

"Next time, Sam," Dean said, a hand at the small of Cas' back ushering him to the front passenger seat.

"Next time," Cas echoed, settling himself inside the car with a contented sigh.

"We did good, though," Sam said, folding himself into the backseat without complaint. "I think we ticked off every beach cliché on your list, Cas."

"Not quite everything," Cas demurred, and Dean turned to look at him in open surprise as he climbed into the driver's seat. "I made a beach-themed mixtape, but I neglected to bring something to play it on. It's too bad our day didn't have a soundtrack – it would have been a nice touch."

"There's a tape deck in the car," Dean mumbled, turning the key in the ignition and hoping the engine's familiar rumble would drown out the embarrassment that tinged his voice.

Cas reached in his shirt pocket and withdrew a neatly labeled cassette.

Ignoring the anything but quiet snickers rising from the backseat, Dean accepted Cas' offering without comment and slid it into the Impala's tape deck.

As the opening notes of The Beach Boys' iconic song began to play, he looked over at the smiling man sitting by his side – where he belonged and where he had promised to stay – and felt his own face break into an answering smile.

 _Wouldn't it be nice..._

Oh, yes, it was definitely going to be 'nice'. Nice, and so much more than that.

And as the Impala left the beach behind and the open highway sang beneath its tires, Dean tipped back his head and began to sing too, belting out the second verse of the song – every word of it true and spoken from his heart.

 _Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up_  
 _In the morning when the day is new?_  
 _And after having spent the day together_  
 _Hold each other close the whole night through_

 _Happy times together we've been spending_  
 _I wish that every kiss was never ending_

 _Wouldn't it be nice?_


End file.
